Her eyes were trained on him just as his were on her and, obeying his insticts, he came forward with one startling leap, a thunderous and threatening growl emitting from him. "Mors mortis! DEATH! " he roared, hoping his feigned attack would send her scrambling back down the slope. All thoughts and musings of the pack she sought had lost his interest and the woman had overstayed his welcome. He had already told her twice that they were not here, that there was shelter nearby, and that he served a mighty and relentless monarch. To ask for his name had given her a strike in his book, that simple request being just one too many.
His ears drew forward as he continued to watch her, his lungs filling themselves with the mountain air as he let out another bark of warning. Never mind that she might have wanted to know more about him or even hinted with even the slightest bit of hope that she wanted to run into him again; for as long as she was here on the face of the Mountain of Dire, Mapplethorpe was going to make sure she knew her place as a lone wolf in his presence.